


The Deresolution Games

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hunger Games Parallel, Mentions some canon stuff but fits in somewhere after the Purge, With laser tag, essentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to maintain control, Clu implements another Game.  Every cycle, ten programs, five innocents or supporters and five who wish him gone, fight to the death.  The stakes: complete immunity from rectification and from ever being placed in the drawing pool again.  The Deresolution Games have begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

The Games. Always such a fun event for every program, with something for everyone. Don't like combat? Could always participate in the Hyper-Ball competition or the Light-Cycle or Light-Runner races. 

And if you didn't like doing any of them, you could always watch and cheer. 

Pure entertainment, a break from purpose and work and code.

After the fall of the MCP, a time of relative peace fell over the system. The Games became friendly competition again. They were no longer a form of punishment for defying programs who saw fit to change the system. 

Tron was always the Champion. A fair few came close to defeating him but he always won in the end. He never made anyone feel bad about it, either; he'd put on a smile and hold out a hand instead, humbly accepting his victory. 

When the ISOs were discovered, a shift began to occur. They had amazing skill with a variety of weapons programs had never seen before, fighting styles full of grace and smooth movement. Nomadic in appearance, they seemed primitive to the unknowing onlooker; a great first impression to be shattered mere moments later. They would throw their all into the fight and often came out on top.

But ISOs never won the championships; a rare program would make it to the finals but no farther. Bigoted programs who wouldn't accept Flynn and his ISOs made sure of that. The vicious excuses for programs would find ways to ensure ISOs either derezzed first or got disqualified. 

Clu came to power and gone was any light-heartedness or friendly meaning to the Games.

The Games, once again, became a way to punish programs who didn't support him. They were still voluntary for those who wished to play, if a program was in the tyrant's good graces. Assuming a name wasn't in the database of Pro-ISO programs, which was often cross-referenced with the database of those willing to try to take Clu’s life.

The tyrant got tired of winners refusing to swear allegiance to him. They didn't support the perfect system and thus needed to be derezzed. 

It took a few cycles for him to devise a method to create fear and terror but still be entertaining, blind the masses. He had wondered why the weapons technology used with the light tanks and jets was never applied to programs. Discs were great, essential even, but why not something different? Something a bit more complicated than a disc or a mere baton.

Zuse, or Castor now, rather, was the only program he knew to have perfected what he was after. The cane he kept with him was a lethal weapon; Clu had found out the hard way, cycles ago. He had seen it used as what Flynn once called a gun. Only instead of small metal things called bullets, it fired lasers and shattered the target.

The Games were a start, why not add another? One where only one came out on top with no survivors, having endured the slaughter of fellow programs. Players pitted directly against each other all at once. The stakes: complete immunity from rectification and from ever having to play again. And just to prove a point, any program would be selected at random and put into the pool of players. If he limited it to the group who always disobeyed, there would not be much of a game left after a few cycles. He couldn't bear to think of one of the supporters of that horrid User getting immunity from his reign and plans.

So, every cycle, ten programs—five innocents and five renegades—were placed into an arena, outfitted with no weapons on them, their discs removed and stored with their mentors until it was over. They would rush for the laser weapons at the center of the arena, outfitted in whatever landscape the game engineers decided upon, and then wait. A fight to the death with only one winner. 

And every program had to watch. If they couldn't make to the arena, they could catch it on the screens at their jobs or homes or at End of Line. 

They would all watch. Cheer for their favorite program, at deresolutions, at someone receiving their sponser's gift to help in a tight spot. Yet, everyone was solemn during the weeks prior to the drawing. The five innocents could be any program and no one wanted to be picked next.


	2. The Drawing

Tension was palpable throughout the system, programs working harder than they had all cycle. The Drawing. The day Clu's assistant, Jarvis, stands holding a stack of randomly chosen files on each of the ten contestants for the next deadly Deresolution Games. Or as many began to call them, the Derezz Games. 

Via wondered if that was because it was shorter or if they held little meaning anymore.

All games involved a lot of deresolution, especially now, but these more so. Because as far back as her data went, there had always been only one winner. The participants used laser beam technology to fight against one another, fighting in way she had only seen Light Jets use. 

She had heard Castor once say Flynn had given the concept to the programs; back in his world, kids would tag each other from distances, run around and hide and sneak up on enemies. Yet they were never hurt, never stopped existing because of it…

The winner got what was considered an honor. Complete immunity from Clu's rectifier and Game participation for the rest of their cycles. She couldn't care less. She hadn't done anything worth rectification, nor did she make it a habit to show up in the arenas. Work consumed her too much to really care.

She fixed damaged or corrupted coding. Quite mundane, as many had told her. Via had done a lot more of it during the war, naturally; she couldn't help any ISOs, as their coding was far too complex. 

Since then, she had become neutral; she didn't like Clu, but was far from willing to risk deresolution in order to show it. Her record existed but a lack of activity from her made for a better negotiation if she was ever picked up. She was done fighting, as were many faces she recognized on streets. 

Reckless programs were still out there and the Games always resulted in someone walking away with varying degrees of damage, she figured she still had a purpose. 

Via made her way to the sector's gathering point, a crowded plaza, where all would stare up at the Liberator and wait for who would be picked. Guards stood near a Recognizer, circuits gleaming red, ready to take away the combatant if she or he resided here. The screen above the Square showing a yellow Identity Disc spinning on its side, as if a program had held it upright and twirled it like a top.

Through the throngs of gathering programs, Via was able to see the figure of her only close friend, Gig. She sometimes wondered what would have happened if they had not met and her coding could only reply with disaster. He had aided her through the Purge and the War; she had ISO friends who were gone forever. Plenty of Basics she knew were gone too, supporters of Flynn and the ISO factions. 

Gig was the only Basic to have survived out of the vast number of programs she once knew.

She maneuvered between programs and made her way over to him. He held himself tall and straight, a change from his usually relaxed stance. Via extended a hand and placed it on his arm and felt him go more rigid than she thought possible.

"Hey,” she watched him flinch at her voice, eyes coming out of a trance. 

Gig tried his best to smile and sound happy, pull out a little bit of his typical self. He was always spaced out and tense during the Drawing, as he had been for cycles.

"Hey, yourself." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving a half-hearted hug. "I worked late last night, sorry I couldn't show up."

They had a tradition of going out and grabbing energy at End of Line and dancing with complete strangers the evening before the Drawing. Sometimes she had left with another program and had her fun, only to wake up with fuzzy coding and a dip in her energy for the Drawing. If they were going to be picked, either one of them, they might as well have a bit of fun before-hand.

Via had decided against it this time. She went home from work and poured herself several glasses of the glowing euphoria and watched the channels instead on her screen.

"Don't worry about it. I didn't even bother going out anyway." She replied.

Gig let go of her and instead placed his elbow on her head. She was much smaller than him, a joke when they first met of her being the perfect armrest. 

"Well, let's get this over with,” he grumbled. “I swear, this anticipation is a thousand times more painful than necessary."

"That's the point," Via murmured. "The chances are against our sector, no one's been called from here in tens of cycles…"

A contestant had not been picked from their sector in roughly forty cycles; most of her lifecycle. Bad odds. Any decent program could see that.

The screen above changed, displaying Clu himself in the robe her wore during the regular Games, the sycophantic assistant standing off to the side. 

"Yet another cycle has passed, fellow programs.” He began. Via controlled an urge to roll her eyes. “The time has, once again, come to see who shall be participating in this cycle’s Deresolution Games. It goes without saying what the victor will receive should he or she make it through to the end alive," a smug look crossed the program's face, a reminder of the User before he ran away and hid, "so let's just get right down to it, shall we?" 

He gestured to Jarvis, who held the stack of files out with one hand, looking out at the audiences.

The first five to be picked were always renegades. The tactic created more of an impact; let the rest of the population wait in agony over who's at the bottom, the possible innocents out of all of those standing. 

Gig removed his elbow and instead gripped Via’s hand, as he always did. She placed her other hand on his upper arm, more for his reassurance than hers.

Clu took the first file from the top of the stack, analyzing it briefly before calling out the name. 

"Nano, architectural program from Sector R451."

Half of the screen was taken up by a picture of a male program with short black hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. He didn't look too tough; if anything, she figured he would be one of the first to go.

Renegades had previous offenses against Clu's regime or were captured during the war and made to fight their way up the levels to gain freedom. Most lived among the regular population. Via had not given a second thought about it. Blue circuits didn't always mean a User-supporter, after all. White and blue were both neutral and still separated purposes as well.

Clu’s voice rang out again. "Cam, processing program from Sector G734."

Another male, this time with blonde hair, gray eyes and light skin. Blue circuits. He looked far wearier, Via thought, as if he'd been through something the previous program hadn't.

"Frag, entrepreneurial program from Sector Q009."

Another male. He had auburn hair, with very pale skin and blue eyes. A glint in his eyes contradicted his thin frame; he was definitely tougher than he looked.

"Electra, entertainment program from Sector E806."

Finally, a female program. Likely a Siren, from her light complexion and outfit, hair down in dark curtains around her face. Not too many females won. While she certainly didn't look like she'd make it too far—fighting off drunken patrons wasn’t the same as fighting in these Games—she would make it past the first initial slaughter. Electra showed a desire to fight back behind the sultry gaze offered to the masses. 

"Beta, analysis program from Sector T109."

The last renegade was male, short brown hair tousled as if he never bothered trying. Gray eyes and light skin. He didn’t seem spectacular, not to Via.

She clutched Gig's arm tighter. The sinking knowledge of a lack of a tribute from their district sat in her mind, in her belly. Someone around them would end up in that Recognizer high above the crowd today.

"And now, for our five innocents…"

Clu's smile was anything but friendly. He was happy, no doubt, to find out which programs would potentially be derezzed over the next several centicycles. The message, the purpose, of these Games came from the randomly chosen five, some of whom never existed during the Purge and War.

"Proxy, sentinel program from Sector J651."

A second female program was shown. Cold, calculating blue eyes and long black hair. Not someone Via would ever want to share a secret with. Proxy looked like she got what she could from whomever. Red circuits certainly didn’t help.

"Rip, racing program from Sector L156." 

A male program with dark skin and black hair in a ponytail, yellow circuits. His green eyes were hard, intimidating while his face was set in a smug expression, as if daring the audience to challenge him.

"Vector, sentinel program from Sector K439."

Another sentinel? She shouldn't have been surprised. Usually at least two or more were thrown in per cycle. Despite his obvious alliance to Clu, he was easy on the eyes. He’d have sponsors and fans before the Games even began.

"Axi, Siren program from Sector E309."

Traditional Siren. Her red hair was high and tight in a ponytail, smoky blue eyes decorated with long lashes. Via surmised she too would not last long beyond the initial slaughter.

"And finally…Via, code editing program from Sector B320."

Her processing code paused as she stared blankly up at the screen. 

No.

That…that was her picture, name and Sector. It couldn't be. Impossible. She worked so hard, kept low-key in hopes of this never happening.

Via didn't have to look at Gig to know he was staring at her. Other eyes followed as bodies parted to make a path to the red-circuited programs ready to take her away.

She couldn’t move, disbelief plastered on her face. All of these cycles…for nothing. She would join her old friends at last after a hell only few ever survived. Her fate was sealed. 

Then embrace it, she reasoned. 

She wiped her face of expression and walked through the parted crowd, head high. The sentinel programs grabbed her by her arms and roughly escorted her onto the craft, securing her feet. The pilot was given the signal to start and take off.

"May odds be in your favor, programs.”

Clu’s last words rang out as the Recognizer began to rise and the sea of faces faded from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	3. Mentors

Via knew, without a doubt, where she was being taken. Clu's headquarters, the tower looming over the city. The contestants would all meet there, find out who their mentors were, and then eventually be sent off to he combatants’ quarters in one of the high class Sectors. 

The first night was usually spent among the friends and atmosphere of the mentor, making connections for potential sponsorship. Selling yourself, as Gig had once called it.

Via remembered when combatants used to be placed in the lower guest quarters of Clu's tower, never leaving until the Games; such a bad idea, especially after someone tried to derezz him in his sleep cycle. 

Recalling the faces of the others, she was certain Proxy was the youngest of all. Her picture showed an attitude yet to be torn away, but it was hardly just visual. Most red programs were repurposed, resetting the cycle age. While she could be wrong, as plenty of red programs existed during the lull between the MCP incident and the Purge, a part of her had a sliver of knowledge she wasn’t.

The Recognizer landed, the feet of the transport flattening and the platform sliding down. Others started landing as she was removed from her bindings and walked across the glossy surface of the landing platform. They were hardly gentle with her but at least she had not been dragged like the renegades. Via couldn't help but notice that the guards didn't even touch the sentinels at all. 

Via was nudged in the direction of the group already lining up. Ten people awaited them; she only recognized three; Clu, Rinzler, and Castor. The others, she could only assume, were previous victors, chosen to guide them for the next centicycle or so before the battle.

This process was not as random as the Drawing. A processing program would walk past, scan the participant and cross-reference the information in his helmet to declare who would best suit him or her as a mentor. 

Much like how rogue programs were caught.

Via ended up in the middle of the line, the shortest stuck between two much taller male programs. The one to her left had blue circuitry and was the tallest of the group. She peered up, recognizing his face; the first renegade to be called. Nano, she recalled. To her right was the male sentry. His red circuits were a dead giveaway. Vector. Getting a good look at him, she saw his eyes gleamed with cruel intentions, knowing this would be easy for him.

He caught her looking up and gave me a crooked smile.

"Well, aren't you adorable?" His patronizing tone made Via want to whip her disc right through his voice coding. His sickened her. "Like what you see?"

"Hardly." I growled.

"Sure, sweetie. Keep lying to yourself." He brushed a finger over her face, touching her the way she had only permitted certain programs to do; she witnessed it more with Sirens at the club, wondering how they could withstand it. 

A knot of anger twisted in her coding. Her hand found its way to his wrist, squeezing like a vice. She did not want to be here, picked among all others who might have actually deserved it, to be a part of this ridiculous entertainment of murder and control. And now some sentinel wanted to touch her because he felt he was privileged to, because she was cute? 

"I'm not a plaything." She growled, twisting the joint threateningly.

He scoffed, pulling back as she released his arm. "This'll be far more interesting than I thought.”

Everyone's attention fell to the man behind this whole thing as he stood in front. Hands behind his back, he looked fairly entertained with them already. Via wished he would just wipe that smirk off of his face. Amusement they might be, but that didn't mean he had to hold the fact that only one would survive over their heads every second.

"Well, you bunch certainly seem a little more confident than last cycle's contestants,” Clu began. “Or perhaps the realization of what's going to happen to you hasn't sunk in yet. Whatever the reason, you know what comes next. You will be paired with a mentor to show you the ropes of this lovely game. He or she will be responsible for getting you the best sponsors possible, something pretty crucial should you make it far enough. Of course, public opinion plays a role too. But that's another matter for a later time…"

He motioned for the processor to step forward and begin. The helmeted program with red circuits began from the right end, where the line began with a male program.

In front of the contestants, above the group of mentors and Clu, a screen flickered, showing all of their pictures and names. This chart was being displayed across the entire city, Game enthusiasts waiting in anticipation already.

Each program was scanned, the name of the mentor spoken aloud. This was then placed onto the screen beside the combatant's name and picture. When the program reached Vector, Via knew the choices were either Rinlzer or Clu, as always. A sentry always got the ones they served.

"Clu."

Great. She would piss off the one who managed to the leader of the entire system as his mentor. Naturally. 

She glared up at the shiny black glass covering the program's face. Her reflection stared back, appearing neutral except for the anger in her eyes.

"Castor."

At least she got someone connected to a war hero. Good enough, it was someone she knew. Castor was well-liked by most programs and held a good amount of political power. If she was liked, she had a chance of surviving past the initial slaughter.

Proxy ended up with Rinzler. Of course, Via mused, he was the only other option for her. 

She couldn't help but wonder where that left her. Castor was in favor, often working with the Liberator on information exchange, but they certainly didn't seem to mesh well. She had adapted to the system, made a place for herself, but hardly wanted this for other programs. She was tired of fighting and here she was, again, fighting. Maybe it was a good match after all, considering his connections to Zuse.

The club owner’s body language was stiff. He stood with his feet apart, cane in front of him, but that hardly stopped him from conversing with the other programs, forced though it was. Everyone knew he was far more comfortable in his club, conversing with programs and being a socialite. This did not suit him. Mentoring was likely thrust upon him this cycle. Most of the time he was a sponsor. For Clu to have dragged him in here…suspicions were high. With barely a glance at her, Castor began to walk towards one of the many elevators as the others had begun to do and wait.

One by one, each player was taken in a different direction, meeting up with the old victors or powerful figures they would be dealing with for the next centicycle.

Guards took hold of her arms again, walking her to the elevator, a black glass platform with no enclosures. Castor gave a nod to the guards, who let her go. Silver gloves moved swiftly over the controls, the platform swiftly moving downwards to the ground, with only a streak of light for a cord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After going through some of chapters and seeing how terrible my seventeen-year-old self was with plot and pacing, this is probably going to be longer than it originally was. Things happened too quick, too sudden, and it just got...the story tripped over its own feet, basically, and just kept tumbling. 
> 
> This is going to require some planning, some serious, heavy editing and character development in order to work out in the way I want it to. More than I originally anticipated. If you've read ahead, be prepared for a little more filler and tweeking. I don't remember characters, I can't even keep straight what happened when I read some stuff; if I can't understand it, how can I expect my readers to? 
> 
> I'm also in college at the moment and should be doing reading as I write this. Hopefully, if I get stuff done and maybe get ahead, this'll work out. Because I don't have the issue of having to come up with new material like I do my other stories; it's already there, I might have to flesh it out, but it's there. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's taken a look and read thus far, I'm really glad it's gotten hits to begin with. This was a piece I never expected to touch again, honestly, so...thanks.


	4. End of Line

Castor seemed a little more relaxed compared to mere moments ago, standing with one ankle crossed over the other, right hand twirling his cane between his fingers. 

"Via, right?" His accented voice brought her out of her thoughts. 

She looked up to find him looking at her, expectantly yet with so much patience. He must have recognized her in some fashion, at least a patron. Most programs were.

"Yes. Virtual Integration Application." She replied.

“Fitting for a coding program. Very…precise.”

Silence grew between them. Strange, Via thought, considering he’s typically the life of the party.

“I haven't done mentoring in quite a while; this should prove to be quite an experience…" He flashed a smile, more for his benefit than hers, she realized. A flicker of doubt passed in his eyes, fading as quickly as it came. He wasn't happy with the pairing, she thought, probably wanted someone who at least looked like they could hold their own.

It dawned on her the programs she had just been among were the ones she would have to kill. She only talked to one of them, a far cry from pleasant company, but their existence was solidified in her coding. She never took a life before, not even during the War. Her fighting skills were far past rusty. What little fighting she did during the War didn’t count in her book. So, in reality, she had no experience whatsoever.

Damn. 

‘Well, there goes any confidence I had left,’ she thought. ‘No wonder he doubts me.’

Her spat with Vector, Clu’s mentee, couldn't have helped either.

She was lost inside her own circuits again, hardly realizing they were now on the ground, a few blocks from their destination. She felt something jab her in the arm. The cane. Castor looked at her with wide eyes, somewhere between concern and curiosity, the top of his cane nudging her arm. 

"Please tell me I didn't end up with a program who would rather brood over being chosen instead of fighting and proving this whole thing wrong…" He started walking, not even considering she might not follow.

The urge to roll her eyes came back and she gave in, just this once. She would follow; it was be a trip and a half to get home anyway. Not to mention she, and then Castor probably, would get derezzed because she disobeyed the rules. Mentors were responsible for their combatants until the beginning of the Game. She sighed, stepping off the glass platform and walking after him. 

It was quiet in the streets, surprisingly. Programs were still out and about but definitely not as many as there should have been. Usually at this time, everyone was out, shopping, heading to the End of Line, cycles and runners rushing through the streets.

They reached the bottom of the End of Line tower, where two bouncers stood on either side of the elevator. She couldn't see their eyes, which were covered from their noses up by dark visors. The doors opened with a soft chime. She followed Castor in, the man giving a grin as he pressed the top of the control panel with his cane.

"I saw the, uh, spat with the sentry back there. Fast reflexes," he said as they rose high above the city again. "Have you any fighting background at all? Surely a mere code editor wouldn't have such a quick response to feeling threatened."

"I've never participated in the Games, if that's what you mean." She reached up, tying her hair back loosely with a band and bringing it over her shoulder. "During the War, all I had done was recode the basics I could. I didn't fight as much as everyone else did, if at all…"

His expression was neutral, looking straight through the doors and out at the cityscape, at something not there. Via could feel the bass pounding above them, making its way down the stripe of light guiding them up. He stepped forward and turned around to face the other set of doors. 

He gave a comforting smile, placing a hand on her back, "We'll worry about it tomorrow. For now, although I'm sure you've been here plenty of times before, I welcome you to my domain."

As if on cue, the doors chimed open, revealing a short corridor opening into the club. Tons of programs were already here, dancing and being entertained without their host. The two MP3s were in their booths, mixing the beat. A Siren with white hair in a bun was taking care of patrons.

The lights on the dance floor dimmed, a signal for everyone to stop for a moment. Via hoped their eyes would watch their host instead. No such luck. She shuffled her feet uneasily, Castor's hand on her back feeling more like a vice with every passing millicycle. 

"This little program here is Via. She's here to have one last good time, so make sure she's having fun. Oh, and no hitting on her, she's liable to rip your hands off…" He shifted his eyes to me, smirking. 

‘Well, at least my ‘spat’ is the source of entertainment. Not that anyone else will get it.’ Via mused, eyes darting around at amused faces.

She offered a shrug and a tilt of her head in reply.

The music started up again with a different beat. Via was pushed along to the bar and plopped onto a stool. The program beside her looked familiar and she couldn’t place him for a second until she recognized the shaggy blonde hair.

"Gig!" She threw her arms around him, thrilled to see her friend, even though little time had passed since they parted. Her head was buried in his shoulder and he nudged his cheek to hers briefly but said nothing.

"Wait until the energy wears off a bit. He's been here since the Drawing." The Siren said, whisking away his glass and not replacing it.

"Hey," Gig mumbled. "I wasn't finished."

Castor appeared next to the Siren, cane hooked over his forearm. "Gem's right, dear boy, you are quite finished." His crisp accent cut over the music. "I won't have you passing out from an overdose of energy, I don’t think our combatant needs one more thing to fuss over."

Via let go of him, ruffling his hair, a little tuft sticking up in the back. She peered up at the two white clad programs, Castor's blue eyes focused on the blank surface of the bar as the Siren whispered in his ear. The corners of his mouth tugged down into a frown before the both of them went up to his lounge, no doubt to discuss the displeasing matter.

Deciding that she had to have some sort of fun, Via ordered a drink, laughing at Gig's gapping jaw and wide eyes. He began pouting when she sipped the fluorescent liquid, the burn running down her throat. 

"Excuse me," A finger tapped her shoulder, her head turning to peer up at a male program with dark hair and blue eyes, "would you like to dance?"

Ignoring Gig's drunken glare, she took his hand. She adjusted to the beat before throwing herself into the music, dancing near him but ultimately separate. Eventually, they drew closer, her back to him, grinding. The man, whose name she never got, spun her around, placing a leg between hers, continuing the rhythm. The height difference, although not too much, was just enough to awkwardly pull her off the ground. In the sea of people, it was hard to tell. She tensed up as he lowered his head to her ear while he grabbed her ass, pulling her to him. 

"So was Castor kidding when he said you're liable to rip hands off those who hit on you?" His nose brushed against her hair in an attempt to be seductive and failing, his pelvis grinding against hers. 

‘That’s it,’ she fumed, ‘twice in barely a millicycle. When did other programs get so disgusting?’

Via brought her head back in mock ecstasy before bringing in forward and head-butting him. The blow shattered pixels for the both of them, the tiny bits clinking on the floor. He let go of her, stumbling back and into the other patrons, who were none too pleased at the disruption. Gig let out a holler before falling off his stool ungracefully. 

The music stopped and the lights snapped back on. Via didn't have to look up to know Castor was peering down at the scene. 

The dark-haired program stood up, a sneer on his face, as if she had rejected the best damn man in Tron city. She thought his forehead looked funny with its missing pixels, half of his eyebrow gone and part of his hairline missing. 

“It’s an improvement,” she said.

"You bitch."

He shot forward with a raised fist, aiming for her face. The impact and follow-through made sure she turned her head and felt the damage. Her inner coding cracked and broke altogether. When she brought a hand to her jaw, she was met with jagged edges. He sent another fist to Via’s abdomen, cracking but not wholly damaging her midsection. In return, she took advantage of their proximity and raised a leg to kick him and insult his pride. While he was shortly stunned, Via grabbed his hair, delivering a punch to his jaw before tossing him to the floor to keel over in pain.

Castor, somehow still managing to be an elegant host despite the clear angry in his body language, signaled for two guards to remove the program. 

A silence came over the club, an instinctual instruction to say nothing and wait for the next motion. Castor gestured with his hand and the music began again. Via was yanked off the dance floor by another guard and dragged up the stairs to the private lounge.

She was shoved again, this time into plush cushion. The muffled music still penetrated the barrier through its vibrations, a dull pulsing working alongside the energy of the Grid. Via peered down to see some programs looking up, waiting to see what would happen.

Castor walked over a window, watching Recognizers pass by. His hand clenched the top of his cane, willing himself to relax. After all, it was hardly the first brawl of the club. 

He could not deny she was the first combatant to mess everything up on the first day. 

"There was a plethora of ways to have handled that, Via." Castor hissed. "He invested money into Zuse's services…"

"Well, at least I showed everyone I at least put up a fight. Shouldn't that matter?" Via replied, her words distorted from her missing jaw. “I could have been raped, pardon me for trying to make sure I live until the Games.”

"You proved you're easily provoked and can use basic anatomical knowledge to knock a man to his knees. That's not putting up a fight!" He was still facing the window, shouting at the glass instead of her, his eyes eventually catching her reflection. 

Via fumed. He wanted to be angry. Two could play that game. He wasn’t the one thrown into this, forced to take part in some stupid tournament because Clu needed power and control.

"And what would you know about fighting? I don't exactly see you throwing your disc around or using that cane to knock people out." She hissed, biting her lip the second the last syllable left her lips. 

Was she that daft? She had the right to be angry, but not at her Mentor. Castor may not have been much of a fighter, but he was connected to one of the last accessible war heroes. It was his job to instill hope in people to show Clu's reign wouldn't last forever.

The man with the potential to overthrow everything. And she was here, insulting everything he had worked for, what Zuse had worked for.

He turned on heel, cold fury in his eyes. In all her time at the club, she never saw the flamboyant program angry. He always wore a smile, brushed off a comment with a sharp-witted reply and let the opposing program stand dumbfounded. He strode over to where Via sat, yanking her arm and pulling her from the couch. He looked her straight in the eyes as his other hand held both his cane and her other arm, his grip worse than the Recognizer straps from before.

"I fought long ago, Via," he whispered. "I fought for things you may understand but don't believe. I remember you. You were in the last batch of programs Flynn sent our way before he went into hiding. You healed a little ISO girl to the best of your abilities because you were the only one there. I don't know why you're criticizing me when you don't even know what it's like to be on the front lines of battle, to throw yourself into the carnage because you know the enemy is wrong."

He pushed her away, Via falling back onto the couch. 

He spoke of the Purge, of the war. She didn't recall there ever being a Castor. She would remember that. The dream cycle sometimes happily reminded her of the dark history surrounding Clu’s reign. The man before her wasn’t Castor. Those eyes were too full of a heavy burden and anger and thousands of cycles worth of guilt. Zuse was the one he supposedly worked under…the man she recalled letting a glimpse of fury into his eyes before destroying his enemy.

"Zuse." Via whispered. "You’re Zuse. Hiding as your own confidante." The scale of her idiocy and unbridled tongue hit her with a force stronger than the punch to her gut. "I-I'm sorry…"

He blinked for a moment, his vision glazed over as if he had been reliving old memories. Her words broke his concentration and he offered a forgiving smile, the anger gone entirely.

"Save it. How were you to know? Let me see your disc, I'm finding it hard not to laugh at you missing half of your jaw…"

Via reached back and relinquished her disc. He called up her coding and began to pick through it. She watched as he twisted the helix, pulled things out and assembled them back together. She was pulled up from the couch again and turned around. The last thing Via heard was the click of her disc being put back and the hum of her circuits working to replace her pixels as her vision went black.

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: This is a re-write of a story I put up on DeviantArt years ago under the pen XxBoredWithLifexX. I will be editing it there as well as here to keep continuity and any identity issues at bay. And by years ago, I mean my senior year of high school, which was over two years ago.
> 
> This idea was definitely well-rooted in the plot of the Hunger Games; a competition to the death with one winner at the end, everyone has to watch, the rushing for weapons. A parallel, really.  
> Part of it came about years ago when I went to an all-night laser tag for a then-friend's birthday. A friend and I were like "Imagine a competition like this, with actual lasers. Cyberpunk-ish, blah blah blah."  
> Skip ahead to me seeing Tron Legacy, and having too much studying to do, I suddenly thought about laser tag and Tron. Together. Obviously they do use lasers with the tanks and the planes. And Castor/Zuse has his cane. So why can't they be used in another fashion, another competition on the Gaming Grid...only in a less friendly way...
> 
> Some details:  
> -Programs's discs are taken so that the losing program can be rectified (I believe the disc is the one thing that has to be destroyed in order for the program to cease existing altogether). So Clu can still create some of his army.  
> -No renegade has ever won. Because Clu needs to teach the masses a lesson and keep control.  
> -Mentors are either those who have won in the past or were major players in the war. So that's Clu, Rinzler, Castor/Zuse, and some OCs  
> -Clu's or Rinzler's combatant always wins. This is a way to humilate Castor, who supposedly has ties to Zuse-I like to think Clu is responsible for Zuse becoming Castor, so it's his way of further laughing in his face at being on the wrong side.
> 
> Thank you for reading. A link will be put up to the DA file in my profile. Read ahead if you wish, but know it's definitely not the best writing considering how long ago it was.


End file.
